Chapter 4 #2
He looks away first, back to the sign. “So, what is a Konditori?”
“I would think, if you’re unable to google it, the pastries on the sign might be a clue that it’s a bakery.”
Hunter surveys me, a disconcerting gleam in his eyes. “You’re feistier than I expected.”
“You had expectations?”
He shrugs. He’s wearing another white shirt with long sleeves today, and his tie is a beautiful jeweled green.
His pants look like they cost as much as Lou’s shoes and are perfectly tailored to his powerful, long legs.
“My cousin told me about you. She said you’re ‘the sweetest little thing on earth.’”
“Well, I’m clearly not little.” I gesture to my own long legs—I got my height from my dad and Farmor. I’m even taller than my grandma, almost five foot ten. “But I am sweet—usually.”
Hunter actually laughs, a deep, throaty sound that does things to my stomach I wish it didn’t. Especially since he’s made it so clear that he has no interest in anything with anyone. “So you’re saying I bring out the worst in you?”
“This is not my worst.” I bristle, but then I admit, “It’s also not my best.”
Hunter’s mouth twitches. “‘The kindest person I know,’” he says, apparently still quoting Lou. “‘She knows what it’s like to be stared at or treated differently, so she’ll be the last person on earth to make you feel uncomfortable.’ Maybe she doesn’t know you as well as she thought, huh?”
Embarrassment and frustration writhe in my stomach like snakes coiling around each other, fighting for dominance.
“Well, Lou forgot to tell me about you. So you might have formed opinions and had expectations . . . but I wasn’t equally prepared.
And I truly apologize for any reaction you saw on my face.
I promise, it wasn’t judgment. It was only surprise. ”
Hunter’s lips compress, but he nods. I don’t know what this nod means; his eyes are stormy again, his brief laughter erased. He glances past me into the bakery. I wonder if I made our situation worse.
After a weighted silence, where I grasp and fail to find something to break the awkwardness, he finally says, “Richard and Lou both told me I have to come get a treat every day—corporate policy. So here I am.”
“Oh. Corporate policy, huh?”
“I guess I’ll be adding an extra mile to my runs if they’re serious.” I’d think he’s joking, except his lips turn down.
I stiffen. “It’s not like they would fire you for refusing, if you’re that opposed to the idea.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I better not risk it.”
His tone is so dry, I don’t know what to do except open the door and gesture him in first. “Hope it’s not too much of a trial for you to comply.”
The familiar scents of my home away from home envelope me. My mom stands at the counter, prepping some of our to-go boxes. In the back, I can hear Frank Sinatra playing while Farmor finishes up the last of the baking for the day. I inhale deeply, trying to find my calm.
Hunter glances around, completely out of place in our delicate bakery—too tall, too tailored, looking like a GQ cover, taking up space like he owns it.
“So, Konditori is Swedish?” He nods toward the yellow-and-blue Swedish flag displayed on the wall above the shelves with bags of pepparkakor and boxes of kanelbullar.
“Yes. Farmor—my Swedish grandma—and her husband opened it when my dad was a toddler. The only Swedish bakery in Scottsdale . . . and probably all of Phoenix.” I lift my chin.
We have clients who drive an hour for our -semlor buns and families who place orders for our cakes for all their special occasions.
Hunter lifts one brow before strolling over to the shelves and perusing the baked goods we’ve so lovingly cooked and packaged. “Are those a type of cinnamon roll?” He points at the kanelbulle.
“Yes. Sweden actually invented the cinnamon roll. Obviously, America has put its own spin on them, but this is the original version. The best version.”
He glances at me, something simmering in his gaze that makes my neck flush. A mocking glint in his hazel eyes that makes me feel like I need to physically brace myself. But all he says is, “I guess I better try one of those, then.” He takes a box and looks between me and my mom at the counter.
Ah, my mom. His politeness becomes a bit clearer.
“Mom, this is Hunter. Lou’s cousin who moved to Arizona for . . .” I glance at Hunter, but he’s peering through the glass counter at the almond cakes, semlor buns, and prinsesst?rta that all require being chilled to stay fresh. “A while. He’s working at the office too.”
Mom smiles widely. “Yes, your uncle was telling me about your move here. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hunter.”
He straightens and smiles back at her, a smile I’ve yet to see aimed at me.
It’s practiced, tight at the corners, waiting for her to notice his scars—for her eyes to widen or her face to go pale or even for her to comment on them.
The way he steels himself for the sting only makes my remorse from last night sharper.
But Mom is a master at social graces, and she doesn’t even flinch, her smile unwavering.
Of course, if she spoke to Richard about him already, perhaps she got the warning Lou failed to give me. “Will this be all?”
“For now,” Hunter says. There’s a subtle shift in his posture, a slight release of his shoulders. He pulls out a credit card, but Mom waves it away.
“First one’s on the house.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely! If Richard is going to make you come here every day, the least we can do is let you off with one freebie.”
“If this is half as good as the cake Lou brought me yesterday, he won’t be making me do anything.” Hunter is charming and at ease with my mom, and it makes my stomach go sour. Why is he so guarded, so rude to me?
“That’s so kind of you to say! I’ll be sure to let the chef know.”
“Please do,” Hunter agrees, affable.
My mom’s smile turns coy, and she looks past him to where I stand glowering at them, still clutching my Windex and paper towels. “Livvy, didn’t you make the prinsesst?rta this week?”
“Yep.” My lips pop on the p.
Hunter only partially turns, his posture stiffening again, like he’s already formed a reflex to guard against me.
“Well, my compliments to the chef.” His eyes flash to mine and then away.
“I better get back to work. Thanks for this.” He holds up the box, and before I know it, the doorbell -jingles, and he’s gone.
“Interesting.” Mom watches him stride away.
“What?” I snap.
Her gaze moves to me, and her eyebrows lift.
“Sorry.” I exhale, forcibly calming myself. “How can he be so nice to you and such a jerk to me?”
“Probably because he isn’t attracted to me.”
I laugh, a hollow sound lacking any humor. “Oh, trust me, that is not it. He’s made it abundantly clear that he’s not looking for anything with me, not even friendship.”
Mom’s pale-blue eyes—the same as mine—narrow. “What did he do?”
I shrug, not wanting to repeat the whole humiliating encounter. “He didn’t do anything, don’t worry. But he was a jerk. Let’s leave it at that.”
She leans forward onto her forearms on the glass counter.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. He’s clearly been through something terrible.
And Richard told me he’s had a tough go the last year with a girlfriend and his business.
I’m sure he’s feeling pretty low and insecure.
But I saw the way he looked at you when he thought no one was watching. ”
“When could you have possibly seen him looking at me like that? He was only in here for two minutes and talked to you the whole time.”
“I have my ways,” is all she says with a wave of her hand. “I also happen to know he has a degree in marketing and has a reputation of being really good at it.”
She’d better not be hinting at what I think she is. “Must not be that great if he’s working at his uncle’s loan office now.” Before she can respond, I continue, “I’m going to go finish washing the door, and I might as well do the windows while I’m out there.”
“Sure, honey,” she says with a knowing look. This conversation isn’t over, but I’m avoiding it for as long as possible.
I escape to the quiet solace of the hot afternoon sun sweltering down from above and rising in waves from the concrete. Worry slips down my spine like sweat—a creeping concern that my mom and Richard are conspiring to get Hunter to intervene with the bakery’s struggles.
Maybe if Hunter had been nice, I’d consider it. I’d even be willing to overlook his being standoffish—he’s been through a lot, after all. But I’m the one who has been repeatedly warned—by Hunter himself—that he’s not interested in even being friends, let alone anything more.
Other than one sort of friendly-ish interaction in the kitchen this morning, he’s been nothing but cold. Which makes me anything but willing to work with him—if my suspicions end up being right.
My phone vibrates, and I pull it out to a text from Lou.
WCG tonight for dinner, dessert, and dishing on my date?
YES, I quickly reply. I’ll never say no to dessert at The White Chocolate Grill.
Perf. I made a reservation for 7. We can all ride together.
We ALL?
My heart drops.
You, me . . . and Hunter. Don’t hate me! He mentioned not having plans, so I invited him.
BAIT AND SWITCH.
My cheeks already pulse with hot anger just thinking about enduring an entire dinner with him.
He’s so lonely. I felt bad.
Won’t he be mad when he realizes I’M coming?
He already knows.
I don’t know what to think of that. My stomach twists into a knot. And he didn’t back out?
I might have told him you’re bringing a date.
WHAT?
BUT IT’S FINE—we’ll just say your date canceled last -second.
THAT’S EVEN WORSE!!!
It’ll be fine! Gotta run! Mwuah!
I hate you.
I wait several minutes for the three dots to show up on the screen, but they never do. I’m going to kill her. I go back to washing the windows with a new vengeance, ignoring how sore my arms are from working triceps and chest with Talia this morning.
Finally, ten minutes later, my phone vibrates again.
I love you too. Trust me. It’s fine.
I inhale slowly and then exhale through my mouth, but my yoga breathing fails to calm me.
You’re right, it will be. Because if you told him I’m bringing a date, then I’m bringing a date.
The three dots show up immediately, but I ignore them, hitting call on Talia’s contact instead.
“Hey,” I say as soon as she picks up. “What are the odds that you can find me an amazing date . . . by seven o’clock tonight?”
“By tonight?”
“Yep.”
“Run-of-the-mill I can do on short notice, but amazing? That’s a tall order.”
“He has to be amazing,” I insist.
There’s a pause, and then, “Does this have anything to do with Lou’s cousin you were telling me about this morning?”
“It’s a long story. But, yes. Kind of.”
Talia sighs. “I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you! You’re a life saver!”
“Don’t thank me yet. This is very short notice.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“You’re the worst sometimes, you know that, right?”
“Very rarely.” I laugh. “Love you!”
“Love you more,” she says, resigned, and we hang up.
I rub my hands together, evil-villain-like, grinning as I finish up the last window. He can say he’s not interested, but that doesn’t mean I have to look as pathetic as I actually am. He assumed I would automatically want to have a relationship with him.
Well, ha ha, sucker! I don’t.
And tonight I’m going to prove it by showing up with my amazing date while he’s there with his cousin.
The door opens, and Farmor walks out, glances at the sparkling windows, and then turns to me. “Was that your new neighbor I heard a little while ago?”
I work hard not to roll my eyes. I guarantee she and my mom were in there talking, so of course she knows the answer to her question. “Yeah,” is all I say, inspecting the glass for any other streaks or marks I can rub away.
“Your mom said he seems nice.” Farmor’s voice is mild.
“Not to me, he isn’t.” The glass is spotless. There’s no reason to stay out here any longer.
“You, of all people, should know that it can be hard to meet new people when you’ve been through something terrible like he has.”
Ouch, go straight for the guilt. “Why do I feel like everyone is on Team Hunter? You don’t even know him.”
Farmor’s nose squinches. “I’m always on your side, -sotnos.
But Richard filled us in on a little bit of what he’s been through last night and asked us to help him help his nephew.
Apparently, Hunter is brilliant with numbers and marketing.
Richard thinks having him work with us to turn things around at the bakery might help all of us. ”
I groan. Suspicion confirmed. “Farmor, no. He told me—”
“All I’m asking is to give him a second chance,” Farmor cuts me off firmly. “If he’s as brilliant as Richard claims, we need his help—and you know it.”
This can’t be happening. Yes, the bakery needs help . . . but not from him. “I thought he was working with Richard and Lou at the loan office.”
“He is, but he has a degree in marketing, not loans. We all felt like spending an hour or two a day working with us on turning things around here would be beneficial for us and his professional confidence. He needs to rebuild his portfolio because his former partner stole all their clients and started his own marketing firm behind Hunter’s back. ”
“Maybe they all went willingly because he’s not brilliant, and his uncle is just biased.”
“Liv!” Farmor says, shocked. “This isn’t like you at all.”
I flush. She’s right. But as I already admitted earlier today—to his face—he clearly doesn’t bring out the best in me. “Okay, that was harsh. But still valid. We have no idea if he’s any good at marketing.”
“Well, we don’t really have many options. If we don’t change something and soon, we’re all rowing a sinking ship. He’s here, he needs the work, and his uncle thinks he can help us for a good deal.”
When I finally meet Farmor’s gaze, her expression is so pleading, her eyes soft with sadness, that my protests all die, turned to ash on my tongue.
This bakery is all that’s left of the life she built with my grandpa, and though I’ve tried to hide the worst of it from her and mom, they know things are not looking good.
“If you and mom really think he can help, I guess we can let him try. But he told me he doesn’t even want to be my friend, let alone anything else. So don’t be surprised if he says no.”
Farmor winces. “He’s hurting, and we often lash out when we’re in pain.
I’m not saying it’s okay that he was so rude.
I have half a mind to march right up to him and smack his mouth myself.
” If Hunter is wondering where I got my feisty side from, I know where to direct him.
“But, my sweet girl, remember that sometimes it’s worth it to give someone a second chance. ”
Farmor gives me a brief hug and then leaves me outside with the spotless windows and a very conflicted conscience.